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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29444706">The Particulars of Language</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/clear_as_starlight/pseuds/clear_as_starlight'>clear_as_starlight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>But mostly fluff, Canon Era, Fluff, Historical Inaccuracy, Language Confusion, M/M, Some angst, Valentine's Day Fic Exchange, Washington attempts French, i hope you enjoy it my love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:56:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,260</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29444706</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/clear_as_starlight/pseuds/clear_as_starlight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Marquis de Lafayette finds himself guarded by language, safe in the knowledge that General Washington does not understand French. Lafayette relies on this, as he knows that the General shall not guess his illicit feelings when they spoken only in French. </p>
<p>This is the perfect arrangement, to Lafayette’s thinking, until translation suddenly rears its head…</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/George Washington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Particulars of Language</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Clover/gifts">Blue_Clover</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this fic for a Valentine’s Day exchange, where I was completely-by-accident assigned my love, Blue_Clover. It is our first Valentine’s together, so that was a lovely, if slightly hilarious, coincidence! I hope you liked it ma mie &lt;3<br/>(and happy v day to any of y’all lovely folks that read this too!)</p>
<p>(also, as readers of my other fics will know, I don’t usually write Washington/Lafayette, so I hope I have done them, and their pairing, justice!)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, Major General in the Continental Army, and one of General Washington’s most trusted of men, should suddenly find himself in somewhat of a predicament.<br/>
<br/>
He supposes, rather foolishly, that he ought to have anticipated Washington’s asking of these questions, and yet—perhaps in wilful, blissful ignorance—he did not.<br/>
<br/>
This predicament should start when he trudges through melting sludge towards Washington’s headquarters one fairly cold morn—though in truth, the pieces to create such a problem as this have been laid over many months, since Lafayette’s first meeting the General, <em>à vrai dire</em>.<br/>
<br/>
On this particular morning, with scarf desperately held over his chilled face, Lafayette finds himself near colliding with one Alexander Hamilton, an aide-de-camp to General Washington, a man most beloved to Lafayette, <em>son cher ami</em>.<br/>
<br/>
Unusually, however, Hamilton does not react to Lafayette’s effusive, if shivered, greeting. Instead, he only grimaces, glances awkwardly at Lafayette and away, eyes skipping nervously over tents and men.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Mon cher</em>?” questions Lafayette. He begins to feel a strange unease, creeping hauntingly down over his skin, seeping ominously towards the frosted ground. “You are quite well?”<br/>
<br/>
Hamilton hums, coughs, makes a face. He shrugs, knits his fingers together.<br/>
<br/>
“Hamilton?” Lafayette tries once more. This odd lack of confidence, this skittishness; this be not at all usual to Hamilton’s character.<br/>
<br/>
The unease only strengthens, begins to sink in hardy talons.<br/>
<br/>
Hamilton clears his throat. “I did not realise…” he manages to start. “Well, that is—”<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Mon ami</em>.” Lafayette forces sternness into his tone, attempts to seem somewhat assertive. “If you be the bearer of some ill news, I would ask that you say so <em>immédiatement</em>. Cease with this…” He flounders for the correct phrase. “Slowness?”<br/>
<br/>
Hamilton sighs, seems to check that no man that walks past should pay any attention to their conversation.<br/>
<br/>
“I, uh, I translated some French for the General. I did not realise…”<br/>
<em><br/>
Oh</em>.<br/>
<em><br/>
Non</em>.<br/>
<em><br/>
Mon Dieu!<br/>
</em><br/>
Lafayette feels his face drain to white. He hopes Hamilton means some Frenchman in the army has so irritated the General, but fears Hamilton speaks of something far more unfortunately specific.<br/>
<br/>
“Might I ask…<em>quoi</em>?” <br/>
<em><br/>
</em>Hamilton gestures forward. “Perhaps we ought discuss such elsewhere?”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette swallows. It appears this should be the unfortunately specific phrase, then.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Once they out of the main thoroughfare, Hamilton finally manages to meet Lafayette’s eye.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Mon cher</em>,” he says. “Gilbert. I am sorry. I did not realise…”<br/>
<br/>
“You did not realise <em>what, </em>Hamilton?” Lafayette snaps, fear and confusion bleeding over into anger and uncertainty.<br/>
<br/>
“That you…” Hamilton waves his hands around helplessly. “The General—”<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Hamilton</em>.” Lafayette suspects he may soon explode from the awful suspense. “You who are known for far too many words, do not lose such ability now! Speak!”<br/>
<br/>
Hamilton appears to take a deep breath. “The General asked if I may translate a phrase.”<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Oui</em>,” says Lafayette, finds his hands clenched tight. “I think we have established this already, yes?”<br/>
<br/>
Hamilton hums. “<em>Je t’aime</em>.”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette blinks.<br/>
<em><br/>
Putain.<br/>
</em><br/>
“<em>Je t’aime</em>?” he asks faintly, feels his knees go weak.<br/>
<br/>
Hamilton nods. “Aye. <em>Je t’aime</em>.”<br/>
<br/>
“And he asked you this <em>pourquoi</em>?” Lafayette attempts to grasp at some semblance of hope; that this occurrence not at all due to his own previous poor decisions.<br/>
<br/>
Hamilton’s eyes on him are sympathetic. “He said…” He clears his throat again. “He said that this a phrase you often use when speaking to him.”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette squeezes his eyes shut.<br/>
<br/>
He feels Hamilton lay a hand on his shoulder. “If I had known why he so asked, I would not have—”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette only shakes his head desperately, eyes remaining closed. He cannot bear to see how Hamilton may have reacted to such knowledge of his nature as revealed by this.<br/>
<br/>
“And what should he have said to this? <em>Qu’est-ce que il te dit</em>?”<br/>
<br/>
“Lafayette,” says Hamilton. “Gilbert. Look at me.”<br/>
<br/>
Very slowly, reluctantly, Lafayette opens his eyes, but cannot quite meet Hamilton’s gaze.<br/>
<br/>
“What did he so say?” he whispers again.<br/>
<br/>
Hamilton removes his hand. “In truth, he said very little, but to thank me for the translation, and ask for assurance of its accuracy.”<br/>
<br/>
“Ah.”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette knows not whether this bodes for good or ill.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Mon cher</em>,” Hamilton begins again. “I must ask…when you have said such as that to the General, should this be with familial intent, or no?”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette bites his lip, feels his cheeks flush with embarrassment even in the cold air. “<em>Non</em>.”<br/>
<br/>
Hamilton watches him a moment, then nods. “Well, I can only say I most certainly am not one to judge such affairs of the heart as wrong.”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette regards Hamilton carefully. He has long suspected—well, <em>en tout cas</em>, that not the issue here.<br/>
<br/>
“He truly said nothing else upon learning of such a translation?”<br/>
<br/>
Hamilton shakes his head. “I am sorry, Gilbert, but no. I think, however, that you should speak with him, before such as this may drive a wedge between you.”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette cannot imagine doing so.<br/>
<br/>
He knows it were such a foolish move as to assume the General would be content to remain in his ignorance of French, but he only wishes Washington had asked him directly instead, so that he could have spun some explanation, before any such as Hamilton stuck his unintentionally clumsy boot into the matter.<br/>
<br/>
Hamilton is saying some other thing now, perhaps further apologies, further assurances of his silence on the matter, regrets that he cannot tarry longer for he has tasks he must yet complete, but Lafayette can think of nothing else but whence he begun this dangerous game.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>When first Lafayette meets General Washington, he finds himself struck quite dumb, and then full of too many words that they should spill out everywhere, indelicately, an awful melding of English and French that seems to quite baffle Washington, though he appears also amused and somewhat charmed by the young Frenchman.<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette knows himself to be eternally in debt for the General’s kindness to him, for his willingness to allow Lafayette to serve the cause he so ardently believes in.<br/>
<br/>
In the first few weeks of their tentative acquaintance, where the army must move almost incessantly, attempting to predict where the British might land, what paths they might take, where the armies might be forced into meeting, Lafayette finds both his admiration and affection for Washington increasing at a somewhat ridiculous pace.<br/>
<br/>
Whilst their situation should seem tenuous, the General remains outwardly calm amongst the men; though Lafayette does witness some argument between the General and Hamilton, and some small inkling that Washington should conceal quite a temper, this only increases his regard for the General.<br/>
<em><br/>
</em><br/>
One day, in early September, when the various Generals gather at the Headquarters of Chadds Ford, near the banks of the Brandywine, for a council of war, Lafayette should find his eyes inextricably drawn to the General, as he regards maps and plans sharply, discusses options for command and division with his commanding Generals, which Lafayette should someday hope to be.<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette were, in somewhat purposeful ignorance, able to convince himself thus far that his admiration and affection for the General should only embody that which may be felt for a father figure, or perhaps a man one aspires most desperately to be akin to.<br/>
<br/>
But this day Lafayette recalls well, for he were watching the General close, attempting to understand the quickly spoken English, as he still learning its fluency, when Washington should glance upwards, meet Lafayette’s eye with a very slight smile, before turning away to address General Greene or Knox (he forgets which).<br/>
<br/>
As soon as their eyes should meet, however, some odd sensation crawls over Lafayette’s skin. It be not unpleasant—no, indeed, far from such! Rather, it be as though a warmth steals over him, causes his fair cheeks to flush, his stomach to churn oddly; he must drop his eyes to the floor in fear some other might notice, and he wonders what—<br/>
<br/>
Oh.<br/>
<em><br/>
Non</em>.<br/>
<br/>
He should know this feeling well; though he has not, thus far in his life, felt such as this so intensely upon connection with any person before, it be not so alien a feeling that he should not recognise its likeness.<br/>
<br/>
This affection for the General, he suddenly should realise, lays in the realm of affection one must usually reserve for liaisons with the opposite sex.<br/>
<br/>
Such as this might trouble other men, but not so with Lafayette, for he has felt similar, if lesser, emotions for other men before, and he knows of many within the French court who conduct themselves, if discretely, in couplings of this manner.<br/>
<em><br/>
Toutefois</em>…<br/>
<br/>
He thinks that the Americans would not see such affection as this in so light a fashion, and therefore, despite how he immediately realises what he should feel, in truth, for the General, he resolves that he must restrain himself from ever making obvious such feelings, as the Americans would judge them an egregious sin.</p>
<p><br/>
And then, the aftermath of Brandywine, where all is dust and noise and ruin and chaos, where the air chokes with the metallic smell of blood, and heaves with the heavy scent of gunpowder.<br/>
<br/>
Where Lafayette finds himself drifting in and out of sense and reason, sharp pain in his leg, blood coating his breeches, and Washington’s concerned expression hovering nearby. Though he must have serious tasks to be about with the army’s retreat, for some reason he remains beside Lafayette, eyes creased with worry.<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette watches him blearily, forces a hand into the General’s, and squeezes. He be amazed Washington should allow such familiarity, but presumes he must appear a dreadful visage.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Tu es incroyable</em>,” he whispers, slightly slurred, for the General were <em>incroyable</em>, taking command of this army, in the first proper battle Lafayette should so witness. His very presence were near overwhelming, the fear for his men to his credit, his allowance of Lafayette to leave and take the field not something he had to permit, and yet he did so anyway.<br/>
<br/>
Washington watches him, eyes oddly soft. “I do not know what that should mean, dear Marquis.”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette realises that, <em>non</em>, the General should not, for in his injured and aching state, he has so forgotten that Washington does not speak French.<br/>
<br/>
In such ill-health as he should be in at this moment, this appears to him only as some devious opportunity, for he may yet speak things he could not admit to in English.<br/>
<br/>
For now, he only repeats: “<em>Tu es incroyable</em>.”</p>
<p>—And so begins the game.<br/>
<br/>
Washington smiles in a near indulgent fashion, pats Lafayette’s shoulder, and stands.<br/>
<br/>
“I shall leave you to rest.”<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Post Brandywine, it be near two months until Lafayette should behold General Washington again. In this time, they exchange correspondence, but the feelings that were stirred before the ill events of that battle do not fade with distance and time, as Lafayette had somewhat hoped, if only that it may make such interactions as they must share easier.<br/>
<br/>
However, when he first sees Washington upon his return to the army, it becomes clear this fading of feeling has certainly not occurred. <br/>
<br/>
“Ah, Marquis!” Washington exclaims, rather joyfully, when Lafayette arrives at headquarters, knocks patiently on the General’s door. “I am extremely heartened to see you most excellently recovered.”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette smiles widely, steps through the doorway—accidentally meets Washington’s eyes before he has had time to compose his feelings.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Tu es beau</em>.” It slips out, completely unheeded, and he panics, for though he knows the General does not understand French, what if he were to—in his flustered state, he bounds forward, initiates <em>un bisou</em>, one to both cheeks, as is <em>la voie des français</em>, without even considering that he has never before greeted Washington in this manner, so desperate be he to conceal his verbal mistake.<br/>
<br/>
Washington stands rather still as Lafayette does so, and when Lafayette steps back, he realises how baffled Washington appears, but does not mind, if it should mean he has forgotten what Lafayette so said.<br/>
<br/>
Washington clears his throat.<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette realises the General’s cheeks are ever so slightly flushed, and feels some small amusement he has managed to fluster such a usually stoic man.<br/>
<br/>
His own cheeks flush involuntarily, and he determinedly looks elsewhere.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Oui</em>, Sir. I am most greatly pleased to have returned to your service, <em>enfin</em>.”<br/>
<br/>
Washington nods, smiles, seems recovered now from his French greeting, proceeds to speak with Lafayette on what their army must now attempt in the manner of winter quarters, and the small battles that still occur as the British pursue them through the countryside.</p>
<p><br/>
After such a slip as this, Lafayette finds himself growing bolder in what French he may speak around the General, assured that when he not in deliberate talks with other Frenchmen, Washington’s pride quite often prevents him demanding a translation from Lafayette—either that, or he presumes the Marquis forgets himself, and so does not wish to embarrass him.<br/>
<br/>
This a thought Lafayette ought to feel bad about perhaps, that he exploiting Washington’s kindness in order to allow himself some small outlet for his thoughts and feelings, but it so necessary he cannot summon much will to regret it.<br/>
<br/>
It seems that the longer Lafayette works beside the General, the clearer it becomes that this not some small infatuation, some childish admiration morphed into desire, but instead some true feeling of care, where he wakes from slumber wishing he would turn and see the General’s face beside his, where his eyes follow the General as he strides through camp, where he feels rage and protectiveness at the meddling hands in Congress who would seek to tear Washington down, in the same manner a wife may feel about protecting her husband’s name.<br/>
<br/>
And is that not a sinful thought, that such as this should cross his mind, where he compares how he should grow to feel for the General to that of what should be shared between husband and wife?<br/>
<br/>
Though he not so terrified of eternal damnation and biblical sin as perhaps American soldiers who feel as he might be, admitting such a thought to himself seems almost that little step too far, even to his freer thinking.<br/>
<em><br/>
Sinful</em>, the General might call him, <em>unclean, immoral</em>, and that a thought that stings harsher than any other. Yet still, he cannot cease the temptation to say such things.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Mon amour</em>,” Lafayette addresses Washington, once, without intention, and near keels over from sheer embarrassment, though Washington knows not what he has said, and there are no other French speakers nearby to expose him so.<br/>
<br/>
Washington’s gaze flicks towards him. “I apologise, Marquis. I believe you said something?”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette struggles to regain his composure, must look at anything but the General. “It matters not, I assure you, <em>Monsieur</em>.”<br/>
<br/>
Washington regards him, brows slightly creased with some confusion. “Moan armour? Is that what you so said?”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette splutters, both from the hilarious mispronunciation, and the terrifying feeling that swoops through him at the General so nearly, accidentally, addressing him as <em>my love</em> in return.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Non</em>,” he shakes his head. “It were nothing.”<br/>
<br/>
Washington appears sceptical, but does not press.<br/>
<br/>
The downfall producing <em>je t’aime</em> occurs soon afterwards.</p>
<p><br/>
It be just before Lafayette leaves for Albany, instructed by Congress on a mission he does not wish to undertake, but that he would do anything and all things to prevent Washington’s name being sullied, his position as Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army being threatened.<br/>
<br/>
Washington is working silently at his desk, crammed into the office in Potts’ House at Valley Forge, shivering and shaking as the fire dies down, and him unwilling to ask it be relit, else waste firewood required on the morrow.<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette were, at first, there to speak with Washington on his fears behind Congress’ motivations towards the Canada expedition; now he also works silently on his travel desk, seated across the room from the General.<br/>
<br/>
Though he should not, he notices how badly the General shivers, wishes he could convince him to find further warmth, or retire for the eve, but knows this a lost cause before he should even attempt it.<br/>
<br/>
He realises how cold his own fingers, sighs and thinks he ought return to his headquarters, for it a fair march, and he should have an early start in the morn.<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette rises stiffly, glances at Washington, and away.<br/>
<br/>
He glances back in surprise.<br/>
<br/>
Washington is…asleep? Or at least, he be bowed over his workspace in a manner that indicates a state near enough to slumber to be it.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Mon général</em>?” Lafayette asks, perhaps incautiously, for Washington would likely not enjoy being labelled in such a manner of possession. However, it not truly incautious, for the General does not stir.<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette reaches out to shake his shoulder; hesitates, for he knows not if such intimacy as touch should be allowed in a context where neither party be physically wounded.<br/>
<br/>
“Washington?” he tries again. “<em>Monsieur</em>?”<br/>
<br/>
No movement ensues, bar that Washington’s head lolls slightly where it be propped against his palm.<br/>
<br/>
An unbearably strong surge of affection swells within Lafayette; he must turn and gaze elsewhere in the darkened room, as he makes desperate attempt to conquer such a feeling, suppress it into submission.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Je t’aime</em>,” he finds himself whispering under his breath; near chokes on the words even as they manage to escape out his mouth.<br/>
<br/>
For <em>non</em>, he must not, he should not, he <em>cannot</em>—<br/>
<br/>
He cannot <em>love</em> Washington. He must not. Not truly. That a notion that shall not pass muster, for there no way such a thing as he yearns for could ever exist between them, and he—<br/>
<br/>
“Marquis?”<br/>
<br/>
Of course, just as Lafayette should be internally waging a battle against his own desires, Washington would choose this moment to stir from sleep.<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette pales, then flushes; is immensely gladdened that he did not, after all, think to shake the General into wakefulness.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Monsieur</em>?”<br/>
<br/>
Washington is blinking rather blearily around the room; Lafayette briefly wonders if there be many other men the General would so allow to witness him in such a state as this, but then immediately stifles the thought, for it does his heart no good to allow it to fester.<br/>
<br/>
Washington blinks, seems suddenly somewhat embarrassed, begins to gather his things.<br/>
<br/>
“I think we had both best retire to bed?”<br/>
<br/>
And <em>bien sûr</em>, Lafayette should know what Washington so means with such a statement, but if his sinful brain should attempt to summon other images, he most certainly quashes such <em>immédiatement</em>.<br/>
<br/>
“Aye, <em>général.</em> We ought.”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette also rummages through his things, gathers them into his travel desk.<br/>
<br/>
When he looks back to farewell Washington, the General is regarding him with an odd expression, eyes uncharacteristically soft, and almost…confused.<br/>
<br/>
“Marquis, I were not quite awake, and yet not quite asleep, and I thought I heard—” Washington frowns slightly. “You attempted to rouse me, I think, and you said—”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette feels his eyes widen in fear. His throat suddenly incredibly dry, he swallows almost desperately.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Oui</em>?” His voice escapes in a near whisper.<br/>
<br/>
Washington waves a hand. “It matters not, in truth. I should not detain you any longer, for there is much you ought to be about in the morn.”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette nods once, finds himself clutching his travel desk ridiculously tight.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Bonne nuit, mon général</em>.”<br/>
<br/>
Washington watches him close, eyes sweeping over his face, probing in a manner that feels as though Lafayette’s secret thoughts and feelings are being flayed, stripped raw, displayed to the world.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Bonne nuit</em>?” The General questions, with fairly atrocious pronunciation.<br/>
<br/>
“Goodnight, General,” Lafayette translates softly, conveniently emitting the ‘my’ he has allowed slip out one too many times.<br/>
<br/>
“Ah,” says Washington, lips stretching into a tired smile. “Well, in that case, <em>bonne nuit, </em>dear Marquis.”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette should not feel so ridiculously warmed by such simple French, and rather butchered at that.<br/>
<br/>
And yet he does.</p>
<p><br/>
That really should be the last time Lafayette speaks such a phrase aloud, but his heart aches desperately so when he away in Albany, and though he may write letters, it be not the same, for these letters must contain much official correspondence on army matters, and allow for little personal affects.<br/>
<br/>
In any case, writing down such words as that would present a risk of such immense proportions Lafayette shudders to even think it.<br/>
<br/>
And so it is, that when he makes his return to Valley Forge, after the ending of the debacle that Congress so bungled in Albany, and with the last dredges of Gates’ and Conway’s loyalists losing traction, Lafayette can barely suppress his relief at once more beholding General Washington.<br/>
<br/>
In the privacy of Washington’s office, once the rest of the greetings have been bestowed, and Washington intending on having Lafayette fully debriefed, Lafayette instead finds himself near bounding across the room, forcing Washington into embrace.<br/>
<br/>
At first, the General is incredibly stiff, and Lafayette finds himself utterly embarrassed, feels humiliated that he even attempted such as this without thought, but then he feels Washington hesitantly return the embrace, if rather lightly.<br/>
<br/>
The General laughs softly. “It is indeed wonderful to have you returned to us, Gilbert.”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette near freezes, prevents his hands from tightening against the General’s coat, for this surely the first time Washington has addressed him by his Christian name, and though the pronunciation a little off, it clear that Washington has perhaps practised.<br/>
<br/>
Feeling almost overwhelmed, Lafayette forces himself to step back, away, return to proper distance.<br/>
<br/>
And here, after months away, and a heart that aches even though it truly ought not to, Lafayette again finds himself murmuring against his will—<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Je t’aime</em>—”<br/>
<br/>
And then finds himself panicking internally, as desperately as he attempts to retain a straight face.<br/>
<br/>
Washington smiles, but his face also portrays <em>puzzlement</em>.<br/>
<br/>
“I have heard you say this once before, I think.”<br/>
<br/>
“I admire you, <em>Monsieur</em>.” This not, obviously, a translation, but it all Lafayette may realistically offer the General, without exposing many things which must remain hidden. He does not claim it a translation, <em>toutefois</em>, for he shall not lie outright to Washington, no matter the reason presented.<br/>
<br/>
Washington appears to accept this, and so, rashly and unwisely, but at the insistent behest of his heart, Lafayette begins to say such more often.<br/>
<br/>
Usually as a part of farewells, and only ever in private, as though that should somehow protect him from the catastrophe he invites.<br/>
<br/>
Washington seems content to allow it, and content to not inquire on what it may truly mean, in the same manner he has so previously acted when Lafayette used French in their conversations.<br/>
<br/>
Yet, whilst Lafayette feels that he ought to have suspected Washington not a man genuinely content to remain in ignorance of any such thing, he too absorbed in his own game, where he must both reveal his heart enough to satisfy its yearning, and somehow also keep it safe from being burned.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Thus, Lafayette’s current predicament.<br/>
<br/>
He manages rather spectacularly, through the course of his duties, to avoid speaking with the General alone for the better part of a week; even manages to mostly avoid Hamilton and his increasingly despondent gaze, for Lafayette knows his <em>cher ami</em> desperate for he and the General to reconcile.<br/>
<br/>
The issue with such, however, being that Lafayette knows not <em>how</em>. How does one reconcile with their General, when said General learns of one’s inappropriate and sinful feelings of affection? Of love?<br/>
<br/>
It bodes well for neither, but particularly not for Lafayette.<br/>
<br/>
And so, in some twisted cowardice, he leaves such a topic alone.<br/>
<br/>
That is, until Washington should force the issue, summoning Lafayette to a meeting at headquarters, under what Lafayette assumes to be some pretence of strategic discussion.<br/>
<br/>
He would refuse, but that Washington still the Commander-in-Chief of this army Lafayette serves. He makes the journey to Potts’ House, imagining each and every scenario even remotely likely, each possibility worse than the previous thought.<br/>
<br/>
Consequently, Lafayette arrives at headquarters near convinced Washington shall summarily discharge him, ask him to leave this army, this cause, this country and friends that have become so dear to his heart. He barely hears as Washington’s aides greet him, wave him onwards to Washington’s office; all but ignores poor Hamilton, who watches him with worried and wary gaze.</p>
<p>The sound of the door closing behind Lafayette feels as though it may represent some ending; forebodes with all the finality of a noose made ready.<br/>
<br/>
Washington is facing away from Lafayette, back turned; his posture seems rather stiff, and yet at the same time entirely unsure, fists clenched at his sides, shoulders as tense as Lafayette has so witnessed, even during frustrating councils.<br/>
<br/>
“Marquis.” There is an odd undertone to the General’s voice, an odd bite; he sounds as though his voice struggles into being.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Général </em>Washington,” Lafayette finds himself replying, his own words feeling rather bleak, and as though someone else should control his mouth.<br/>
<br/>
Washington is silent a moment. Then:<br/>
<br/>
“You have been avoiding me, I think.”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette blinks in surprise. He swallows. “<em>Non</em>, Sir.”<br/>
<br/>
Washington huffs. Silently, slowly, he turns to face Lafayette. His expression is tight, his eyes both strangely alive, and strangely guarded.<br/>
<br/>
“I have not seen you in nigh a week. I believe I know why.”<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Monsieur</em>?” Lafayette struggles to ensure his voice does not shake so.<br/>
<br/>
“Hmm.” Washington seems suddenly unable to meet Lafayette’s eye. “Hamilton spoke to you, I presume.”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette presses his lips together. “<em>Oui</em>.” There appears little else he may do here but admit to this truth.<br/>
<br/>
Washington nods. He takes a step towards Lafayette, who fights off his overwhelming fear in order to hold his ground.<br/>
<br/>
“Yes.” Washington clears his throat.<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette frowns. There seems an element of nervousness to Washington’s demeanour; entirely uncharacteristic to his usual manner.<br/>
<br/>
“Yes.” Washington says again, frowns. His eyes flick towards Lafayette, and then away. If Lafayette be not mistaken…there is a flush of colour to the General’s cheeks.<br/>
<br/>
He wills his heart to silence, his thoughts to emptiness.<br/>
<br/>
Washington continues. “Yes. He—He explained that perhaps some of your translations, where offered, were not entirely…accurate.”<br/>
<br/>
“Ah.” Again, there seems little use but to speak true. “I had presumed he…did so, <em>oui</em>.”<br/>
<br/>
Washington nods, repeats again: “Yes.”<br/>
<br/>
There is an awful, unsteady silence.<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette thinks to open his mouth, to explain, to fill the empty space with words, as he is wont to do, to flood the awkwardness, hide it, bury it in assurances and denials and retreats.<br/>
<br/>
Washington, however, speaks before Lafayette may do so.<br/>
<br/>
“And when you say these things, I think them not…in a filial or familial context?”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette winces, think he ought cease to exist from pure embarrassment, humiliation; wishes Washington would just dismiss him, discharge him, save him from explaining his sinful inclinations.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Non, général</em>. They are not.” Lafayette feels himself flush with shame at this revealing of himself.<br/>
<br/>
Washington, however, does not recoil, nor flee, as Lafayette might expect. Instead, he only takes one final step closer, so that they but a foot apart, and though Lafayette himself is tall, the General suddenly seems all that much taller.<br/>
<br/>
Again, an odd look crosses Washington’s face, near to terror, and yearning, and indecision. <br/>
<br/>
“I have wondered…Sometimes I have seen…I have supposed—” He cuts himself off.<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette only watches Washington carefully, scans his face desperately for any sign of what this should all mean for his future in this army.<br/>
<br/>
Suddenly, Washington shakes his head rapidly, squeezes his eyes shut, appears to take a deep shuddering breath.<br/>
<br/>
“I have been practising, my dear Marquis, and I should like to say…”<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Oui</em>?” Lafayette finds himself near breathless, unwilling to cause Washington to retract what he may say, but also unwilling to be left on such an unsure phrase.<br/>
<br/>
Washington opens his eyes. They meet Lafayette’s in a searing, raw manner, where they seem to search hungrily for some assurance, some encouragement, some acceptance.<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette feels the General’s fingers brush his delicately, squeeze around his hand in the softest, gentlest touch he has ever felt so before in his life.<br/>
<br/>
“I should never have thought…I should never have said…but that Hamilton <em>assured </em>me of what these phrases truly meant…”<br/>
<br/>
Tentatively, Lafayette allows his fingers to intwine with the General’s.<br/>
<br/>
“George?” he murmurs, permits himself this one risk, this one desire he has so long held, to call <em>son général </em>by his Christian name, for it feels that much more illicit, that much more intimate—<br/>
<br/>
At Lafayette’s saying this, Washington’s breath seems to hitch; his cheeks flush, his hand tightens on the Marquis’.<br/>
<br/>
“Gilbert…” He appears to take another deep breath. With gaze dropped determinedly to the floor, Washington, a man usually possessed of such confidence, seems as terrified as Lafayette has ever seen.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Je t’aime</em>.”<br/>
<br/>
These words contain such emotion, such terror, such hope, and want, and revelation, that for one awful moment, Lafayette’s mind cannot make sense of what it has heard. It remains frozen, stuck, the words churning over and over and over.<br/>
<br/>
And though there still an element of accent to them, it certainly clear what Washington has admitted; that he practised this phrase, over and over this week, so that he might say it somewhat correctly to Lafayette.<br/>
<br/>
That, of all things, near breaks him. He feels tears threatening.<br/>
<br/>
“George. Should you truly mean that?”<br/>
<br/>
Washington moves a little closer, rests his other hand lightly against Lafayette’s waist, so lightly that it akin to the gentlest brush of soft silk.<br/>
<br/>
“It should scare me, dear Marquis, and it does, for I truly know not the moral consequences of such actions, and yet…when I were told what things you had been secretly admitting to me for months, I were suddenly struck quite dumb, and I realised—”<br/>
<br/>
Washington leans his head down ever so slightly, murmurs in the softest tone possible, so that his breath puffs sweetly against Lafayette’s skin:<br/>
<br/>
“My dear Gilbert, I do, indeed, know that…<em>je t’aime</em>.”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette swiftly remembers how to move, how to find breath, thinks perhaps he knows what should happen next, thinks he ought initiate it, for Washington may be too hesitant, too shy—<br/>
<br/>
He tilts his head up, and kisses General Washington.<br/>
<br/>
It is soft, and gentle, and chaste, for Washington clearly new to bestowing kisses upon men, and Lafayette should not like to scare him, not now, not when they have suddenly surpassed such immense obstacles as stood between their affections as though they were but small inconveniences to their love.<br/>
<br/>
When they part, Washington’s gaze is gentle, and affectionate, and yet also somewhat nervous still, and Lafayette thinks that they shall navigate this newness together. A strange and beautiful thought, where he so recently assumed he were about to meet his end.<br/>
<br/>
“I must confess, on this I am still so unsure, my dear,” Washington whispers. “Though I do not doubt I love you, such a revelation has so recently entered my mind.”<br/>
<br/>
“We need not rush, <em>mon amour</em>,” Lafayette murmurs in return. “For now I know you should feel as I, we shall learn these things together.”<br/>
<br/>
Washington swallows, and nods.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Je t’aime</em>,” Lafayette says, with a slight shiver of anticipation, that he may now say such things to Washington, and mean them to be understood.<br/>
<br/>
Washington smiles in quiet amusement. “I think I truly ought to learn more French.”<br/>
<br/>
Lafayette huffs a quiet laugh, leans up to kiss the General once more, swiftly and sweetly.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>Oui</em>, for there are all manner of things I might yet wish to say.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It’s cheesy, it’s cheesy, I know! It’s Valentine’s Day, revel in that sweet fluff &lt;3</p>
<p>Also: Je t'aime ma chérie! &lt;3 Happy Valentine's Day! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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